


In the half light

by Amber_and_Ash



Series: Variants on the Theme of Dead Air [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, NCIS, The Sentinel
Genre: Episode: s08e05 Dead Air, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vance Bashing, Ziva David Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 04:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12598360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_and_Ash/pseuds/Amber_and_Ash
Summary: In the wake of Dead Air, Tony DiNozzo is coming on-line as a guide. Vance promptly sends him to a meet & greet despite the state of his voice, but at least he has Xander Harris to share his misery with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a previous Rough Trade piece re-purposed as a prologue to my current nanowrimo project. For those who have read it before, the major changes start in chapter 3. Due warning that this is a little rough -- I rather ran out of time.
> 
> This will be unashamed Ziva and Vance bashing. Usually I try to provide at least a supportable, if one-sided, character interpretation. No such thing here.

“Keep your mouth open, Tony, my boy,” said Ducky

I sat in the middle of the NCIS bullpen and concentrated as hard as I could on the feel of the depressor on my tongue. It was all I could do to keep myself grounded. I was the Pinky to Gibb’s Brain. The Roger Rabbit to Ziva’s Jessica. The Tom to Tim’s Jerry. The Bumblebee to Ducky’s Ratchet. I was nothing and no-one for Very Special Agent Anthony Dominic DiNozzo. There just wasn’t anything left.

I was reminded of another doctor. It had been just yet another physical in the standard federal induction procedure until the tests had come back showing that I was a latent guide. I would slowly come online over the next five to fifteen years, he had said. I had been dismissive. It wasn’t that I was naive enough to dismiss in the supernatural – I wasn’t the type to escape a vampire after dinner and forget about it by breakfast. But the desire to _fit in_ was one of the few entirely normal parts of my screwed-up psychology. I didn’t need some thaumogenic cause for that. The doctor hadn’t taken offence. He’d led me through the paperwork and obligations of a registered guide and a federal employee, and didn’t challenge my belief that the whole thing was bullshit. It wasn’t until I was almost out the door that I’d asked why he didn’t try to convince me. The doctor had turned, smiled in a way that showed more pain than humour, and said, _when you finish coming online, you won’t have any doubts._

Perched on the edge of his desk in the bullpen, being stared at like the main attraction at a strip club by his team, I didn’t laugh – that would hurt like hell. But every other impulse was worse. My head spun, and for an instant, I didn’t see the orange walls and grinning team members. I saw blue trees and prowling animals, waiting for my wounds to weaken me and for their chance to pounce. Then my head cleared, the walls snapped back into place, and my blood faded into invisibility.

The symbolism wasn’t subtle. I recalled the earlier conversation when I returned from endangering my life and my junior agents boasted that they hadn’t bothered to provide back-up. I recalled their smug contempt when I had laughed it off. Most of all, I recalled my utter failure to do anything to defend myself. Even now, I could easily picture myself lying bleeding to death outside an overpriced suburban home while my team read magazines in a car. I couldn’t picture me even suggesting that it had been an awful thing to joke about. Ducky removed the tongue depressor, taking my focus away with it.

The other doctor had been entirely correct. I didn’t have any doubts.

There were consequences to coming online that I could no longer ignore after the case wrapped up. The personal pain was nothing new. But there would be inevitable degradation to my job performance without appropriate steps. I would need to make changes.

Which meant a meeting with Director Vance.

It shouldn’t have, of course. I shouldn’t have to speak directly to the director of the entire agency. It should all be handled with a few quick words with some junior office services or HR person, and a few signatures. But Vance had taken one look at the noise, light and supernaturally-insulated lounge that Tom Morrow had set aside for sentinels and guides, and slapped a lock on it. Access with the director’s permission only. The most sensitive in the DC office – a three senses sentinel – transferred out a day later, and it was too late for me to protest when he returned from ship-board. A lawyer could have done an excellent job arguing in court that it was a compliance failure, but current S&G political relations was leaning away from the ‘disabled’ label those laws piggy-backed on. It wasn’t a fight in the best interests of the many sentinels still battling to find acceptance in federal law enforcement. I couldn’t even say I disagreed.

Director Vance made it perfectly clear how generous he was being in taking time out of his valuable schedule for an urgent meeting with his least-valued SFA, but he did agree. I was only half relieved. I needed this, but I was in a bad position to ask. My head ached so badly that every thought needed deliberate concentration, and my voice sounded laughable and weak.

I sat obediently in the indicated chair and watched as Vance prepared a coffee for himself. Vance fussed at the preparations a little too long to be convincing, but I was content to wait him out. The half-closed blinds threw bands of light and dark across the desk, and I had to blink away the after-image.

“You want a key to the sentinel’s lounge,” said Vance flatly, not bothering with small talk.

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I am coming online and there are exercises I need to perform in a shielded space to remain at the top of my performance.”

“Unfortunately,” said Vance without any regret, “the room is currently in use. I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance to know with what. You’ll just have to make do without. I’m sure with a little bit of planning you can manage your private needs at home.”

“Sir, the shielding I need is not optional.” My voices slid embarrassingly from baritone to soprano, but I pushed on without acknowledging the weakness. “I will not be able to complete a full working day without—“

“If you’re telling me you can’t manage your job, then perhaps we should be having a very different kind of conversation,” said Vance.

I could feel my cheeks flush with anger. I could still do that with Vance. After Jenny, I had made sure that I never spent enough time in Vance’s company to feel any desire to be what Vance needed. It had been more paranoia than calculation at the time, but I was glad for it now. “I can manage my job perfectly adequately with very minor alterations if I have access to the facilities provided for under—“

Vance interrupted him again.  “Ah yes. The things you’re _entitled_ to because you are registered with S &G.”

Vance said the word entitled like he was starring in a parody skit featuring a Republican confronting a three-time teen mom.

I gritted my teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“ _If_ you’ve come online,” said Vance. “But you see, I haven’t noticed any evidence of any such thing. I’m sure you’ll find that you’re mistaken about that.”

I didn’t need to be a guide to see that Vance was setting him up for a punchline. I was just too tired to try to turn the tables. “What would convince you that I am, in fact, online?”

“Oh, well,” said Vance, doing a very bad job of pretending to think about it. “I suppose that a certificate from the S&G centre would do it. And, you know what? I believe they’re holding a ‘meet and greet’ this evening, and they’ve been pestering our office about your attendance. You can drive out there early and handle both problems at the same time.”

Send a man who couldn’t talk without pain to an event designed for talking to strangers. One hell of a punchline.

Of course, it wouldn’t be my first meet & greet. They were mandatory for my continuing federal employment, after all. It had just been made very clear to me that they had better be unsuccessful. Gibbs would not put up with a sentinel in his turf, not even a two- or three- sense one with their comparatively diminished territoriality and assertiveness. For all that he was mundane (and I had checked), Gibbs felt ownership like a Complete sentinel. Going to one without my usual fast-talking to set people at a distance, and now fully online, I would be at a lot more risk.

The angle of the sun moved on, and Vance was no longer silhouetted against the light. I found without surprise that Vance’s expression was vicious. I had no real choice. Even if I could have talked Vance around, I suspected that S&G would weigh in behind Vance. The centre might be reluctant to enforce its rules to protect a guide, but they’d feel no such hesitation in enforcing them to entrap one.

I nodded, an agreement and an acknowledgment of defeat combined. “I’ll get right on that, then, Director.”

Things had to change. I just didn’t know how to keep that change from pushing me further into the abyss.


	2. Chapter 2

At the Sentinel & Guide meet and greet, I was pleased with myself for remaining mostly uncoddled. After all, a roomful of sentinels and a guide in distress was the set-piece of many a movie, and it never ended with the guide being politely left alone.

But real-life sentinels were just as susceptible to social manipulation as everyone else. The left-over table I was perched against was in plain sight, but the angles made any approach obviously deliberate. With a little overt body language, no sentinel was going to risk their pride by being publicly turned down. They might have persevered if they’d realised just how injured and upset I still was, but the room’s design helped me there.

Someone had put a lot of thought and money into keeping the room calming for sentinels. Open sight lines and multiple escape vectors helped with any paranoia. Heavy fabrics absorbed excess sound. Beds of activated charcoal absorbed excess odour. Waist high columns of growing things, complete with individual fans and rain-water misters, provided both white noise and white smell. Everything perfectly arranged, pruned or placed. Even with the water, I had to touch one of the plants to reassure myself that they weren’t fake.

I leaned there, sipping a cinnamon apple slushie with a pretentious name. It gave my hands something to do, it helped to ease the irritation in my throat, and it confused my scent pile. Another few hours, and I could say I’d fulfilled the requirement and head home. I people-watched, looking over to examine a Disney pirate going undercover as a Hawaiian tourist. Despite how loud the clothing was, it didn’t make people pay attention. Instead, it made the eye skip past, like they’d just caught sight of a beggar in a train station. I was contrary that way, so I paid more attention instead. The distance perception was well-practiced, so the eye-patch was not an affectation. The movements were loose and easy – not a body-builder by any means, but definitely athletic. The pirate had a familiar alertness. A predator pretending to be prey.

Because I was watching for it, I caught when the man did a visual sweep of the room. Habit? PTSD? Or someone who had good reason to anticipate danger in an American meeting hall? The puzzle made me careless, and I was too slow to look away on the pirate’s next visual sweep. We made eye-contact, and before I could take further action, he’d slipped through the crowd to my side. The man’s nostrils flared – a sentinel, then, and one that was now aware of my current state.

I braced to weather either concern or anger, but instead he sounded complimentary. “You’re pretty good. It takes a great deal of skill to convince a bunch of sentinels to ignore you in these circumstances.”

I tipped my head. “You aren’t bad yourself. You have the room entirely convinced you’re nothing to pay attention to.”

The man smiled, honest and easy. “Nah, you’re definitely of the winning type, here. I didn’t fool you. _You_ fooled me until I noticed you doing a threat assessment of me.”

“And that’s why you came over?” I asked.

“A little bit,” he said. “Mostly because you’ve just stolen the best hiding place in the entire room, and I wanted my share of this isolation-y goodness.”

I grinned. The spot was in physically out in the open. It took a particular mind to appreciate the social isolation it created. Introducing myself was a commitment to talk, but it might be worth getting to know someone who understood. “Tony DiNozzo, NCIS.”

No handshake, of course. Even a relative outsider to S&G society like me knew better than offer casual physical contact.

The man nodded in reply. “I’m Xander Harris, ISWC.”

 _ISWC._ Newly re-imaged and expanded, said the rumours, but at the core… _old_. Watchers of the darkness since before the darkness even had a name. I smoothed my face, but not before my reaction had registered.

“You’ve heard of us?” asked Xander carefully.

“Not…officially,” I said. “I just find it harder than most to un-remember stuff.”

“Not uncommon for guides,” agreed the man, still sounding tense.

“Hey,” I realised, outraged. “That’s not a federal agency. You’re here voluntarily!”

Xander relaxed and held up his hands in surrender. “No, I swear, not voluntarily. The US government might not be forcing me, but my own organisation feels very much the same way.”

I took my time choosing my words, and not just for any potential eavesdroppers in this room full of sentinels. “I hadn’t realised there were many sentinels in ISWC.”

“There aren’t,” agreed Xander. “I’m the only online sentinel in ISWC. Which is why I had the bad luck to be volunteered to come here. There have been increasing…”

It was Xander’s turn to pause over word choice. “…jurisdictional complications in our work. I’ve been sent to make nice with S&G in the hopes of picking up some allies.”

Interesting that Xander did not consider himself to be part of S&G at all. “It must be rough, being isolated like that.”

Xander gave a complex shrug, and I belatedly realised that it had been a rather tactless thing to say.

“I could say the same thing about you,” Xander said, nodding in the direction of my service holster. “A lot of prejudice against guides in front line positions.”

I squirmed, embarrassed by the unearned respect. “Most people don’t know. I mean, it’s not like it comes up in casual conversation, and when it does, I usually just say I’m registered with S&G and…”

“And let them assume you’re a sentinel?” asked Xander.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I know that’s—“

“—a perfectly sensible solution,” cut Xander off firmly.

I must have had an interesting expression, because Xander stepped closer.

“Really” he said. “I mean, I’m completely down with the pride and the role-models and the challenging of the status quo. But that’s a choice, not an obligation. Anyone who tells you differently is a scumbag who wants you to do the hard bit so that they don’t have to.”

The intensity of his words indicated a deeper story, and I was still trying to decide whether to brush it off or go deeper, when a lanyard wearing staff member approached. The aide was projecting calmness and lack of threat, which had rather the opposite effect on Xander and I, but we didn’t protest being led to a much smaller room. It wasn’t anyone’s personal office, but unlike the meeting hall, a room that could well be part of someone’s territory. There was still the absence of sound to indicated shielding, but the pot-plants lacked the gloss and perfection of the meeting room.

Xander had an ‘aw shucks’ expression that had probably gotten him out of all sorts of trouble over the years. “Dare I ask what did we do to rate the special private meeting? Or would it be better if I already knew what was going on? Because if so, feel free to pretend I didn’t say anything and I’ll maintain some all-knowing silence over here.”

The aide looked very deliberately down, and I followed her glance. Xander and I were holding hands. Not in the cutesy teenage romance sense, in the ‘seconds away from falling off a cliff’ sense. I didn’t even recall putting down my drink. I detangled our fingers and backpedalled so fast I hit the far wall, and slid down to the floor without conscious choice. My pulse sounded impossibly loudly in my ears, and it was like an inverted cone of silence ( _Get Smart, starring Don Adams, 1965 to 1970_ ) had come down around me. All I could hear was my own rasping breath and everything I saw was distorted. My throat, which had almost returned to normal, now felt like it was swelling to cut my breath entirely. Every attempt to calm down failed, which just made me more panicky.

Distantly I could hear Xander cut over the aide’s babble with heavy Sentinel overtones. “I need everyone to leave us alone, now.”

“Yes, Sentinel.”

In minutes, we were alone with the lights dimmed. My rational mind told me that meant I was okay. If I was having a heart attack or stroke here, of all places, then half a dozen sentinels would already be alerting emergency medical services. This reaction indicated something entirely more humiliating.

Xander kept his distance, but crouched down so we were at the same height. “Breath with me? I’m been practicing for a couple of decades now, and I’ve been hoping for a chance to show off.”

I couldn’t respond to the humour, but I jerkily mimicked Xander’s actions. I’d been on the other side of this often enough to know how it worked.

After a few breaths, Xander said, “Nothing is going to happen between us for at least the next four weeks, I swear it. Not even if you ask. You won’t be making any long-term decisions now.”

And that was it. Something inside me loosened, and I copied Xander’s breathing until it was easy and automatic. I allowed myself to slump until all my weight was supported by the wall and floor. Very deliberately, and with great emphasis, I said, “fuck.”

Xander laughed, but didn’t speak. He allowed me to pull himself together in my own time. After a bit, Xander retreated and then returned with two plastic glasses of water from the cooler. He pushed one closer to me and then stepped back. I collected the glass and patted the floor next to me. I wasn’t quite up to standing yet, but that didn’t mean I had to act like a frightened animal.

“Feel free to pull up your own piece of wall. I’m not worried you’re going to pounce me or anything.” I hesitated, then continued, “How did you know? About me being worried I’d be the one to demand we bond, I mean?”

Xander relaxed into a more comfortable position and waved a hand. “Embarrassing story, actually. When I first start showing signs, my best friend thought that I really had to be a guide with weird test results. It’s not like I’m a manly specimen of studliness even _now_ , but man, you should have seen me as a kid. When I broke up fights, it was because bullies were just too embarrassed to hit someone so weak. And someone clearly short in the smarts department for getting involved in the first place. And I had, like, negative territorial instincts.”

The self-mocking words were probably an ingrained diversion tactic, but I knew better than most how someone could use the truth to hide the truth.

Xander continued, “So anyway, I got the whole field of aberrant S&G psychology drilled into my head. I mean, half or more of it was utter bullshit that I’ve spent the last decade trying to knock out again. But one article really stuck with me. It argued that an adult guide’s fear of the desire to bond was not a sign of mental ill health. It was the rational and reasonable reaction of someone sane. A self-aware guide knows that they _can’t_ trust themselves to act in their own best interests. Destiny has a sick sense of humour and gave guides the self-preservation instincts of a lemming – the game, not the animal. No sensible guide is going to trust destiny again after that.”

I laughed under his breath. That simple. All my worry condensed and explained so easily. I looked back on my life with new eyes. “I almost got myself killed, once. I mean, I almost got myself killed a bunch of times, but I mean once because I followed my instincts instead of my head. A bunch of us were out screwing around on the water, too much power and not enough experience. And Justin—well, we throw the term ‘big brother’ around pretty loosely in the frat, but I really did think of him like that. Justin suggested something stupid and— I just did it. I mean, he cared for me, I knew that, but he was the last person to trust to make that sort of decision. I didn’t care. It was like it would be okay if I died, because it wasn’t my responsibility anymore. Like my life was an ugly wedding gift – if it wasn’t my job to look after it, then it didn’t matter if it was destroyed.”

I left any more recent examples alone. Sacrificing myself to protect and serve was different, naturally. It had to be.

Xander shifted, and a dead leaf fell from the pot-plant next to him. Hearing about the near-death of a guide would disturb any sentinel, but Xander managed to keep his voice calm and unsurprised. “You spent your life wanting to put your faith in people who weren’t equipped to take care of it.”

“Weren’t equipped, and didn’t even want it,” I admitted. “Justin signed up to be my friend, not my guardian. An adult has a duty to ensure their own safety and happiness.”

Xander hummed something that wasn’t agreement.

“You don’t think so?” I asked.

Xander pinched out some dead leaves from the plant before he answered. “It’s not _untrue_ , exactly. I just think it’s too easy to blame the victim, even if they aren’t guides. I’ve been there. Putting everything I had into helping someone, and then being told that my willingness to help was exactly why they’d lost respect for me. They were entirely and honestly convinced that the real problem wasn’t them taking advantage of me; it was that I let myself be taken advantage of. On top of all that, they didn’t even appreciate the value of the help itself.”

“And the only way to prove that withdrawing your support would be catastrophic—“ I said.

Xander continued the thought, “—would be to withdraw your support, and you can’t do that—“

We completed together, “—because that would be catastrophic.”

We grinned at each other, the harmony of thought exhilarating despite the depressing content.

I breathed once, and then again. “So, why a month?”

“Ah,” said Xander. “I’m on compulsory leave. The council removed me from my previous post, but they don’t want to discuss a new one yet. They’re worried about my mental state, or something. Under the circumstances, I can lean on them to get me assigned to you as a ride-along. We could spend a little time getting to know each other. If you’d like, I mean.”

My first instinct was to retreat, but I paused and really considered my emotions. I considered the difference between avoiding weakness, and allowing someone else’s definition of weakness to undermine me. I considered Gibbs, and how the man couldn’t seem to decide from one day to the next if I was a good investigator or not. I considered my team mates, and how I still couldn’t figure out if they wanted me dead. Then I looked down at the water Xander had brought me, and considered how my throat felt better now than it had all evening, despite how much I had talked. “You know, I think I _would_ like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So, we’re decided?” Xander asked me as we parked in the NCIS parking lot. Xander had toned down his clothing to a button-down business shirt open over a green undershirt, but I didn’t see much chance of getting him into a suit. He had his own armour, as much as I had mine.

“Yes,” I said, not feeling any pressure to explain further.

Once the pressure had come off to _choose_ , I had realised that it probably wasn’t going to be a very hard decision to make. I’d miss everyone, of course. I had genuine concerns about being shuffled into a role where I wasn’t going to contribute much. But I already knew that I could not continue the way I was. If that meant leaving NCIS, then that was what it would have to take. I didn’t need to bond with Xander to escape the trap I was in. In the month’s grace, there was a more important question I wanted an answer to.

 _Why_.

Maybe it was foolish of me. Maybe I was too desperate for some sort of external factor. If I found nothing, I would be forced to accept that they simply didn’t like or respect me. I knew it was natural that people changed, and it was possible that I had misinterpreted or was misremembering our earlier relationships. But if there was even a chance that there was something wrong, and that wrong could be fixed, then I owed it to my own peace of mind to find that out.

Xander was fully on board with finding out. Our first tactic was to rock the boat and see if it disturbed any rats. We were going to do the exact opposite of respecting the dignity of various offices. Xander was coming in as a fait accompli, with signed documentation from the SecNav, and no consultation or warning at all. I’d barely settled at my desk when the meeting ended. Vance looked constipated as he walked down into the bullpen, while Xander sauntered casually in his wake.

Vance said, “If I could have your attention please? This is Alexander Harris, sent here by S&G. He will be accompanying MCRT as a civilian observer for the next four weeks. No arguments, Gibbs. It’s in DiNozzo’s best interests, so you don’t get to have an opinion about it.”

Did Vance really think Gibbs was that easy to manipulate? Gibbs wasn’t going to fall for such clumsy reverse psychology. Open concern from Vance for me was so out of character that it had to be raising alarm bells even in _McGee’s_ mind.

Vance turned to Xander. “Mister Harris, this is Special Agents Gibbs, David and McGee. You know Special Agent DiNozzo, of course.”

Gibbs reacted to Vance’s indirect attack exactly as could have been expected, at least if you knew the man. He came around his desk to shake Xander’s hand. “Glad to have you with us.”

Tim and Ziva uttered polite greetings, perhaps too surprised by Gibbs’ welcome to have an opinion of their own. They’d misread it as sincere, I thought. It wasn’t. The enthusiasm had been to irritate the director, and the physical contact to irritate Xander and me. Gibbs was not a sentinel, despite his territorial behaviour, but he did know better than to initiate physical contact. He was doing it both to be rude and as a power-play. He maintained that false politeness until Vance retreated, and then disappeared off to collect some coffee, and perhaps a conversation with Ducky or a check-in with Abbs. It was more restrained than I had expected. I had expected a head slap as soon as Vance was out of sight, both as a reprimand for the lack of warning, and to test the limits of Xander’s control when his guide was attacked.

I dragged up a chair for Xander so we could complete the paperwork. We ended up a little closer than was typically socially appropriate in order to share the space, but his presence didn’t grate.

“No problems?” I asked quietly.

“None,” said Xander. “After I pointed out the continued absence of a sentinel’s lounge, he didn’t have any room to stand on when it came to you finding other solutions.”

Across the desks, Ziva stood up. I exchanged a glance with Xander. Ziva made some attempt to pretend she was going elsewhere, but she wasn’t anywhere near as stealthy as she thought she was. It looked like we’d be getting a result even sooner than we expected.

Xander offered his hand under the table, and I reached most of the way before hesitating.

Xander said, “If you have objections to eavesdropping—”

“That isn’t it,” I said. It wasn’t. Even if I hadn’t been in investigation mode, my ethics regarding that were socially inappropriate. It wasn’t that I worried about my ability either. Xander would take the weight of it, and allowing a piggy-back wasn’t a difficult skill for a complete sentinel. It was just going to be the first unashamedly guide thing I’d ever done with a sentinel.

I offered my hand and closed my eyes.

Seconds later, I could hear them, sounds a little distorted but still clear enough to follow. Ziva’s voice had that whine that meant she was seconds away from bringing out her knives.  “—you promised you’d keep _those_ kind of people out of this place!”

“I didn’t have a choice,” said Vance. “They went over my head.”

There was a snapping sound, then that of a drawer being opened and closed. Vance was much more composed when he spoke again. “It’s just for a month. There’s no need to panic about it. And it’s just some civilian guide, anyway. There’s no real threat.”

I’m not sure who’s hand tightened first, but it took us a moment to ease back.

“You know my father doesn’t—” said Ziva.

“Your father will have to cope with reality,” said Vance. “Just like the rest of us. And if _you_ had managed to push out DiNozzo like you were supposed to, then none of this would be a problem.”

If she had… my brain stuttered to a stop. I must have misheard.

Ziva huffed, but her reply was calmer as well. “That man is as dense as a stone. I even outright threatened him. I told him that he couldn’t rely on having backup, and McGee agreed with me. I was sure that would bring up memories of his time as a failure as a police person. It should have had him sprinting for the mountains, but no. Tony laughs it off as if it was as much a joke as the rest of his life. That buffoon is entirely blind to subtlety.”

I hadn’t been imagining it, or overreacting to a joke. Ziva had meant it exactly the way it had sounded. When she’d effectively said she didn’t care if I died, she’d meant it. More, perhaps. She’d hoped that I would. It had happened, and it hadn’t all been in my head. And Gibbs… And Gibbs had just stepped back and watched.

“If he’s such an idiot,” asked Vance. “Then why are you so concerned about him discovering anything?”

“You do not know him the way that I do,” said Ziva. “Tony has the luck of a demon. One of these days he is going to come fuss over me pretending to help, or question my security clearance to the wrong person in legal, or look through my bag, or listen in to the wrong conversation. It is only a matter of time.”

“Are you telling me you couldn’t take care of things if that happened?” asked Vance.

The lines from multiple mafia movies went through my head. Were they expecting something from me like, ‘ _if you want me to keep my mouth shut, it's gonna cost you some dough. I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable, so I want two_ ’ (Tom Reagan, Miller’s Crossing, 1990)? Or would the more appropriate line be, ‘ _when they send for you, you go in alive, you come out dead, and it's your best friend that does it_ ’ (Lefty, Donnie Brasco, 1997)

Except Ziva had never been my friend at all, had she?

Ziva said, “He would tell Gibbs before the cheetah can wink his eye, and Gibbs would not be so easy to bamboozle. And don’t forget that Tony is pretending to be an abomination because the stupid world gives so much admiration to sentinels. Now that he’s found a guide to play with him, he’s going to abuse that. If Tony makes up a claim against me, others might believe his words over mine. It is time to stop cat-footing. You need to fire him.”

“Alright,” said Vance. “You’re right. He isn’t taking the hint and leaving by himself. But we’ll have to make it bullet proof, or Gibbs will be just as much of a problem as if DiNozzo discovered something. We’ll have to go big, and go quickly. But perhaps…”

“Perhaps what?” Ziva asked.

“You were afraid that he might try to claim something as a sentinel,” said Vance. “I think you’re right. He didn’t go to all this effort to fake things not to milk every advantage he can. Perhaps we could take that as our opportunity and use the precious S&G against him.”

“And if Gibbs decides to declare war on S&G…” said Ziva, and I could hear the smirk in her words.

“Well, that’s win-win for us, isn’t it?” agreed Vance.

Xander disengaged his hand and stood up. “Shall we be off to the noble of offices of HR, honourable knight? I think we’ll need expert fighters in this war to slay the paperwork dragon.”

Tim looked at us, but in irritation and not suspicion. I let myself be pulled up and into the stairwell, where Xander guided us to sit side-ways on a step. The non-slip edge dug into my butt, but the reduction of noise and things and feelings was already starting to help.

“You can speak. No one is within earshot,” said Xander. “Is the leg-thing hurt or anger?”

I followed his glance to where my legs were vibrating. “Anger,” I admitted. “But I think that’s the healthier reaction right now. Damn them. May the fleas of a thousand camels infest their pubic hair.”

“And may their arms be too short to scratch,” agreed Xander.

“I knew,” I said. “I mean, I should have known. I just managed to convince myself it was a joke in poor taste. Ziva isn’t exactly up to date with normal human interactions, and Tim isn’t much better. And I thought Vance was just a bit of a bigot. I didn’t think he’d leap to the conclusion that I was faking the whole thing. I mean, who does that? What does that say about the person they think I am?”

Xander frowned. “And faked being a _sentinel_. I know you said you just let people assume, but I mean… surely your records? Unless they just took one look at me and said to themselves – yep, that person is full of the guide-ness. No other option possible.”

It was true that Xander didn’t look like a stereotypical sentinel, but then very few people were stereotypically anything. Whatever our relationship, Vance wasn’t incompetent. It would be odd for a law enforcement agent to jump to conclusions so quickly.

“No,” I decided. “It sounded like they’d thought that for a while. I think they were judging you by me, and not the other way around. But you’re right that it is in my records. Surely, they must realise that it’s nothing I could have faked if I’d wanted to. Once you come inline, every other online guide can tell what you are during the course of an introduction.”

“Yeah, ‘well-informed about S&G’ isn’t exactly the vibes I was getting from those two,” said Xander. “More like ‘very informed of the all of the wrong facts’. But that’s one good thing, at least. They’re barking up the wrong tree. You don’t have to do anything to escape their particular hunt.”

“I wish,” I said. “If I do nothing, I _will_ lose to Vance and Ziva. They may be on the wrong scent now, but they’ll recover. They’ll find something they can use if they look hard enough. There is no-one in the world who is so spotless that they fear no examination. Even if the charge is completely spurious, mud sticks, and I’ve already had a lot of mud thrown my way.”

I didn’t particularly care what the FBI thought of me, but I didn’t want current or future co-workers hesitating and endangering themselves because I had a false reputation for lying or incompetence or whatever else they accused me off.

Xander just smirked. “That’s if they do it out in the open. Vance has clearance for a bunch of stuff he could never bring up in a public court. And you know, bad Xander, I might just have forgotten to tell Vance what my day job was. Wouldn’t it be unfortunate if he used his contacts to get you disappeared, only to find out I’m practically on the panel myself? We’ll let him build a castle made of sand, and then stomp aaaallllll over it.”

 _We_. A word I must have heard a dozen times a day. It was strange that it could still prove to be so comforting. I also appreciated that Xander didn’t even mention the other obvious solution of announcing my intention to leave immediately. “What’s your plan?”

“He thinks he’s going to find something,” said Xander. “We give him something to find. Something he thinks of as obviously incriminating, but something that you actually have an easy and inescapable defence for.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like being a high-level, on-line guide,” he said. “You know, the thing he can’t even conceive of you being.”

I leaned my head back, feeling a smile pricking at the corners of my lips. The poetic justice was appealing. “Which leaves one final dilemma. Do I tell Gibbs? On one hand, we know he wasn’t involved. On the other, he hasn’t stepped in to stop anything, either.”

Xander didn’t rush to answer, which I appreciated. “I think we can achieve two goals at the same time. I can invite a friend of mine who might be able to provide a sprinkling of magical assistance in our plan. And the official reason for inviting her can be to take a look at Gibbs for supernatural damage.”

“You think…” I trailed off, not sure I wanted to put it into words.

“I’m seriously the opposite of being a magic expert,” said Xander. “This isn’t a topic you want to take the Xan-man opinion too seriously in. But the important thing is that _you_ think. Forget about the emotional side of it. You think Gibb’s behaviour has been objectively erratic.”

Huh. Xander was downplaying his competency to the point of absurdity, but he was right about my opinion of Gibbs. There were hurt feelings, and that made it hard to be objective, but something was hinky beneath that too.

“There are many causes for erratic behaviour,” I said, playing devil’s advocate.

“True,” said Xander. “But curses, possessions, and injuries are some of them.”

“Yes.” For Gibbs, for me, I had to know for sure, one way or another. “Please, invite your friend.”

Xander smiled. “Don’t worry. She’ll be thrilled to get involved in scheming and plotting.”

I reached above my head for the solid wooden handrails, and levered myself to my feet. My personal tragedy was in many ways irrelevant. If Vance and Ziva were colouring outside the line to such an extent, I could not justify walking away and leaving it to burn behind me. I had a lot of experience in putting aside my feelings to perform my duty, and this was my duty. I couldn’t complain that they hadn’t  given me enough clues for an investigation.

“We’d better get started,” I said. “We’ve got a lot to do, and only have four weeks to do it in.”


	4. Chapter 4

Three weeks later, I was stopped at the entrance to NCIS, Xander waiting for me on the other side of security.

“Anthony Dominic DiNozzo, if you could please come with us?”

“Sure thing, no problem. I just have to—“, I flinched as he felt the sting of a blow-dart. At half pace, on automatic, I finished, “—tell my sentinel. _”_

In the periphery of my awareness, I heard a babble of voices.

“Sentinel?”

“That wasn’t in the briefing!”

“Where is your sentinel? Sir? Sir?”

 _I don’t think this was part of the plan,_ I thought, before slipping unconscious.

I came back to consciousness slowly, letting the touch of another guide sooth me as I threw up. Bit by bit the fuzziness cleared, and I looked around to see Xander on the bed next to me. “Why is my sentinel unconscious?”

“Don’t worry, he’ll recover completely in the next few days,” said the guide. “Those jack-booted thugs were apparently told you were some sort of out of control warlock. They darted you to switch off your abilities. And then your sentinel reacted in a perfectly predictable way. At least the idiots managed to sedate him without getting anyone seriously injured. But the bright sparks have decided to make it a two-for-one special and try you while he’s conveniently out.”

“Try me?” I asked, playing for time. This was not part of the plan. Xander was the one with personal connections to the committee, not me. He was the one who was going to send them certain information in advance of the hearing. Except he couldn’t, because he was unconscious. There was just me. My breathing sped up

“The hearing for that out of control warlock thing they were delusional about earlier,” said the guide with a flappy hand. I suspected bed-side manners were not why he was employed.

“Did they bring my possessions with me?” I asked, my mind whirling.

“I guess. Why?” asked the guide.

“If I can take my lap-top with me, I can look up the answers to any questions they might have,” I said with an insincere smile. Maybe it was not too late.

“Sure,” said the guide. “I don’t see why not. This whole thing is a farce anyway. Let me speak to the guy they have setting everything up.”

 _No_ , I thought to myself. _Let me speak to the guy setting everything up_.

An hour later, I was led into a large room divided by a black screen. It was heavily shielded with the static-heavy white noise that prioritised functionality over aesthetics. The positioning was interrogation style – a one-way screen that left the witnesses alone against a faceless expanse. But even with the screen, I could feel the signature of a terrifyingly powerful guide.

A bored sounding functionary confirmed my name and the date, and then intoned. “You do _not_ have the right to remain silent. You do _not_ have the right not to incriminate yourself. You do _not_ have the right to mount a defence. Failure to speak the truth will be detected and counted against you in any decisions this panel will make. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” I said. I wondered what they did if people said no. I didn’t have the right to mount a defence, but I did have the right to a court-appointed interpreter? I recognised my wandering thoughts as a symptom of my uncertainty. I brought my mind back on track. With the presence of the guide, it was very much a case of _no right to mental privacy_. Feeling a person’s emotions and desires was not technically mind-reading, but a skilled guide could make that a very fine distinction.

A female voice that I suspected was the head of Special Branch said, “Before we go any further, I would first like to offer my personal apologies for what happened to your sentinel. I was assured the S&G record for you was fraudulent, and I’m afraid I took that at face value. It was unprofessional of me.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said. “These things happen. No one was permanently hurt.”

“Speaking of which,” said the guide. “I move to have the charge of falsifying an S&G record dismissed with prejudice. If anyone has any concerns about such matters, they should inquire with us. As should have been done in this case.”

“I agree,” said a male voice - Xander’s quasi-foster father, Rupert Giles.  I concealed a breath of relief at his presence. “Although perhaps not for the same reasons. Nothing that can be handled through normal courts should appear before us. It’s a misuse of our authority, and, frankly, a waste of our time.”

“Any objections?” asked the guide. “So carried. Onto the main charge, endangering the world to demonic forces for personal gain. Please bring in Director Vance.”

I didn’t look over at him while they swore him in. He took a seat at the next table, an uncomfortable distance away in the almost empty room.

“Director Vance,” said a new voice, and I pushed my tongue into the roof of my mouth to prevent showing a reaction. Unless I was very much mistaken, that was Tom Morrow himself. That made it two members likely to be biased in my favour. “If you could present your case, please.”

Vance spoke precisely. “Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, in an attempt to maintain the fiction that he is a sentinel, performed a sacrifice to Egeria demons. Fortunately, I believe we have caught this matter before serious damage was done.”

The blast of confusion from the guide was strong.

“These are the Egeria demons mentioned in the security briefing two weeks ago?” asked Giles, his tone of voice suspicious. “One mention, out of the dozens of alerts we send out every week.”

I hand the unsettling feeling that the suspicion wasn’t aimed at Vance, but suppressed that thought firmly. _The guilty flee where no man pursueth_ , after all.

“Yes,” said Vance. “I take security bulletins seriously.”

“Excuse me, Director,” interrupted the guide. “You said that Special Agent DiNozzo was falsely presenting himself as a sentinel. Could you go into that further?”

“Of course,” said Vance. “At some point, he must have hired a hacker to alter his official record. Special Agent DiNozzo did have some claim to excellent sight and hearing, but hardly to the unnatural degree. I authorised a test that definitively proved that he was not a latent sentinel, but considering his presence on the MCRT team, I was inclined to let it go. Recently, however, he went a step further and forged a certificate stating that he had come online. I fear it was my very suspicion of him that pushed him over the edge and drove him to such extreme lengths.”

“The records show Special Agent DiNozzo as a guide,” said the guide, very neutrally.

“Ah, yes. I suspect he might have bribed or bullied the hacker in question, and he or she took their revenge. After all, sentinels perform valuable functions in our community, but a guide…?” Vance trailed off meaningfully.

“A guide what?” asked the guide, not giving him an inch.

Vance’s tone was assuming a patronising edge. “DiNozzo would hardly want to pretend to be a guide, would he? They are hardly suitable for the sort of work we do. They don’t have the temperament to make the difficult choices.”

I winced. The weight of displeasure in the room increased until surely even Vance could feel it. Had the man honestly not realised that S&G would have a representative here? It was one thing to object to guides in dangerous jobs based on the very provable fact that sentinels would put their safety above mission goals. It was quite another to say with a straight face that guides themselves were too weak for it. Ironically, Vance was lucky that the representative happened to be a guide. A bonded sentinel was not known for their restraint when guides were insulted.

“Shall we proceed with your evidence, then?” said Giles, after a long silence.

“I submitted footage—”

A technician must have been waiting for the cue, because a portion of the screen went white. A second later, I watched myself recorded on the security cameras. I’d picked a good angle.

Vance lectured, “as you can see, Special Agent DiNozzo assumes an unamerican kneeling position—“

“— a standard meditative zazen posture—“ interjected to the guide.

“—and now you can see him making the characteristic gesture of submission—“

“—he’s scratching his nose,” contradicted Giles, flatly.

“After this he solves the case with ‘evidence’ that he could not have achieved by the means of sentinel supersenses.”

“But could have deduced from a guide’s examination of the spirit plane,” said the guide.

Vance wasn’t hiding his irritation. “Yes, there’s a possibility that it might be innocent, but can we risk it? The entire integrity of the United States and the very world itself potentially rests on this and on cases like these. It isn’t an area where we can afford to give someone the benefit of the doubt. And to be honest, given the panel’s reaction, I suspect the footage may have been tampered with to make actions appear more innocent than they are.”

“Whatever you might think of magic users, Director Vance,” said Giles. “We are not complete incompetents. All evidence provided has been examined, and it is a fair and true recording of events, with no compulsions or magic whatsoever on it now.”

“Director Vance, do you have any further evidence?” asked one of the female voices, impatient.

Vance breathed out in displeasure, but let it go. “Testimony from a co-worker of Special Agent DiNozzo, Ziva David.”

She wasn’t called in to testify, which I understood was normal. The panel didn’t exist to question anyone, so it preferred not to. A defendant had no right to cross-examine, after all. Instead, it was a recording.

_‘DiNozzo is a pretty buffoon. We keep him around because he is an extra pair of hands, not because we expect him to overtax his brain. When he suddenly began to acquire useful information, we were naturally surprised.’_

I could feel the heat in my cheeks. It was one thing to discover that my suspicions about Ziva despising me were right. It was quite another for her opinion to be aired so bluntly in front of strangers. They cued up some more recordings in the same theme. I was thankful that the screen prevented eye contact.

“I think we’ve heard enough,” said a female voice I hadn’t heard before. “Miss Mean Bitch has picked Tall Dark and Handsome over here as the loser of the year. I don’t think we really need to waste more time on this. She wouldn’t recognise a demon it one started eating her, starting with her bottom.”

There were some choking noises, but I managed to keep my own expression clear.

“Special Agent DiNozzo, how would you characterise your working relationship with Special Agent David?” asked Giles.

It was the type of trick question where there was no good answer. Did I make myself look unlikeable by counter-attacking, or make myself look weak by accepting it?

“I believe she is aware that I have some serious concerns about her suitability as an NCIS agent,” I said, “but we usually manage to put our differences aside to operate in the best interests of the victims.”

“Are these concerns you have raised with your superiors?” asked Special Branch’s head.

“The last time I tried, ma’am,” I said, “it ended with Director Vance forcibly flying me to Isreal and handing me over to Special Agent David’s father.”

“That is not what happened,” said Vance. “DiNozzo agreed to attend a courtesy briefing to account for his ‘accidental’ killing of a Mossad agent.”

I didn’t look in his direction. “I’d like to point out that not only was it self-defence, but in my unsuccessful attempt to arrest the Isreali directly responsible for killing at least one US agent, I sustained a broken bone. The Director was forced to use a troop transport because no civilian airline would have permitted me to travel. Not with that level of risk of DVT and compartment syndrome. No part of that was voluntary on my part.”

“So your dislike of each other is mutual and of long standing,” said Giles, preventing Vance from defending himself.

“Yes. We managed professional behaviour most of the time, but really, we were never likely to get along. Not given her family history with Humans For Humanity.”

 _Take the bait, take the bait, take the bait_ —

“If you’re going to fling out baseless accusations—” said Vance.

 _Yes_. I indicated a number to the technician, who helpfully put the photograph I’d provided up for display. ‘ _Don’t ever say anything you don’t want played back to you someday_ ’(John Gotti, who should have taken his own advice). Or appear in any photographs.

“I’m sorry,” I said, frowning in confusion. “Isn’t that the organisation where you and Eli David met? Although, of course, you were going around by the name of Tyler Keith Owens at the time.”

Vance snorted. “I don’t know what type of fairy tale DiNozzo is trying to sell, but this is absurd. Tyler was a friend of mine. We are hardly the same person. Unless DiNozzo is confused because all black people look alike to him? I have no idea what Tyler thought about sentinels, but I very much doubt that photograph is of either Eli David _or_ Tyler Owens. If this is the best evidence that DiNozzo has about Ziva David’s so-called prejudices…”

Vance trailed off with a shrug. He was good. I hadn’t been expecting that. Even with the unexpectedness of the reveal, he hadn’t missed a beat. His delivery was so smooth that if I hadn’t been a guide, I might have doubted it myself. But as a guide, I could feel the raw panic of his emotions, and I wasn’t the only guide in the room. And many people in the room experienced enough to realise that ‘ _Everything that guy just said is bullshit. Thank you._ ’ (My Cousin Vinny, 1992) was not an actual defence.

“I think we’re wandering away from the point here,” said Giles. “Director Vance, do you have anything further?”

“I think I have provided everything that needs to be provided,” said Vance dismissively.

I wondered a little at the mild disrespect. Director Vance didn’t officially know who was on the panel any more than I did, but their role was as representatives of most of the western world. At least in this chamber, they outranked him.

“Then I suggest we move to deliberation,” said Giles.

There must have been a general agreement, because the screen returned to natural fabric, and the functionary stood to thank us for our time and warn me to stay in the building until a decision was made. That had, on the whole, gone well, I thought as the door echoed shut behind us. Not as well as Xander and I had intended, and our chance to force Vance into incriminating himself had been wasted, but not badly enough to damage me. I hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

It was three days before Xander was awake and aware enough to care about more than the pure fact that we were both fine, and we’d won.

I settled in comfortably with my feet propped up on some sort of switched off medical equipment, and described each beat of the hearing.

“And when the Great Panel of Over-pretentiousness summoned you back?” asked Xander.

“They took their time, the sadistic bastards,” I said. “They started off by saying they didn’t see a threat to international security, but in the interests of maintaining that in an ongoing basis, they were going to ask for a resignation. ‘The unfortunate position of advising… yadda yadda’.”

“I knew disappearing people was a thing. I didn’t know resigning people was also a thing,” said Xander, staring mournfully at his empty chocolate bar wrapper. “Doesn’t sound like a thing they’d lower themselves to.”

“Yeah,” I said, taking pity on him and throwing him mine. “They mentioned it was not their usual remit, but heavily suggested anyone would accept retirement rather than force them to employ their normal tactics. So there I was, trying to figure out where I’d screwed up. Had I pushed too hard? Had I not pressed hard enough? Did they think I was going around about being a sentinel and not a guide, and disapproved? Or did they just disapprove of anyone in law enforcement with supernatural know-how?”

“That must have been seriously of the suck,” said Xander, between bites.

I rolled my shoulders while I considered that. “It’s weird, but it did. It shouldn’t have. I mean, I’m half out the door anyway. If I dropped a few words into the appropriate people’s ears to keep an eye on Vance and Ziva, they would have come up short sooner or later. The trial itself would have burned through a lot of Vance’s political capital. But it just wasn’t the note I wanted to go out on. Even if the only person who would know would be us.”

Xander didn’t offer any unwelcome sympathy. “So how _was_ Director McBigoted taking it?”

“That was the best bit,” I said, swinging my legs down again to better appreciate his expression. “I think he was going for stern and compassionate, but the triumph and glee were just pouring from him. He was practically tripping over himself to reassure the panel that if they thought resignation was the right thing to do, he fully supported them, and how much faith he had in them. ‘the most incredible ass-kisser I have ever seen.’” ( _Police Academy 2, 1985_ )

“And then?” he asked.

“And then they slapped him silly with a wet fish,” I said. “Just figuratively, unfortunately. They suggested that his opinions about guides might be incorrect. They worried that his colourful past left him too open to blackmail by foreign agents. They thought his position within the NCIS and his access to the panel might tempt him to use them as a weapon in his own personal vendettas. They were sure that he would agree that it would simply be safer, all around, if he resigned. Thank you and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Xander laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see that.”

I grinned back. “I was quite the moment. I mean, I’m supposed to be above things like schadenfreude, but I discovered I’m not. I really, really not.”

“A complete victory for us,” said Xander, “And I wasn’t even awake.”

“Xander, almighty conqueror even in his sleep,” I agreed.

Xander tilted his head to make eye contact more firmly with me. “I have to say, you’re supposed to be all onboard with the crowing and the boasting about now. Our plan decided to flee into the night, and you still finished the job.”

“I just…” I trailed off and then tried again. “I just get the feeling that I won because a higher percentage of the panel _liked_ me than liked Vance. Giles and the guide were the ones making most of my points. I lucked out in being able to present anything in my defence at all, and even then, it might not have even mattered. I get that non-adversarial justice systems exist and can work very well, but I’m not sure that’s a good description of what happened. In the real world, defendants in non-adversarial systems generally have the _option_ to appeal their case to an adversarial court if they feel there was undue prejudice against them. I won, but I can’t be fully happy at winning in some sort of Star Chamber.”

Xander looked amused, and I glared at him.

“You don’t agree?” I asked.

“Oh, I agree, I agree. But you do realise this panel _is_ a direct successor of the original Star Chamber, right? That whole bit about trying the stuff normal courts couldn’t try themselves because the very idea sent them home to cower under their beds? That was the far-too-rich and the powerful-but-on-the-wrong-side, but it was also for the scary, successful magic. The normal courts didn’t mind slapping down poor unconnected women, but a real practitioner doesn’t stay poor or unconnected for long. It’s one of the reasons they made with all the secrecy, and one of the reasons it seemed full of arbitrary.”

That explained so much.

We were interrupted as Xander acquired two more visitors, his witch friend and Giles – Mister Giles? Director Giles? Ambassador Giles? I realised with surprise that, for all our interactions, I’d never been formally introduced. I found chairs for them while they got the small talk out of the way.

Giles said to me, “Jessica tells me she’s here to perform an assessment for you. Of yourself?”

“No, sir,” I said. “Although, naturally if anything is wrong…”

“Beyond the usual,” added Xander, mock helpfully.

“Beyond the usual,” I accepted with a grin. “I was actually concerned about my boss.”

“Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs?” asked Giles.

I turned to face him more fully. This could have consequences I hadn’t anticipated. “You know him?”

“I know _of_ him,” he replied. “If something is wrong with him, that might be something I need to take official notice of.”

The witch was biting her lips and twisting her hands. She hadn’t meant to reveal anything that would require official notice. Neither had I, and I should have known enough to be more cautious.

“If you’ve found anything you can discuss with us,” I said to her, absolving her. “Now is as good a time as any.”

Gibbs might have my loyalty, but Giles and Xander had hers, and I wasn’t about to stand in between them. And if there was something to be worried about, I might need the extra firepower.

“Agent Gibbs…” Jessica took a very deep breath, and I braced myself. “Somewhere along the way he’s picked up some massive damage to his soul. The kind you get from completing the ‘personal sacrifice’ sort of contract.”

I wanted to claim that was impossible, but that sounded exactly like the type of thing Gibbs would do if it would achieve him his goal. _Full speed ahead, and damn the torpedoes_.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “How has that affected him?”

“Some of the time he’s fine,” she said. “But some of the time he’s just acting out his own self-image. He’s faking it very well, but he’s not always fully there.  If he relaxes, he’s going to disconnect.”

My mind kept returning to the phrase ‘self-image of himself’. The endless boats in the basement, the failed marriages, the revenge quests. It had been easy to frame Gibbs’ motivations in terms of a sentinel’s territoriality and drive, but Gibbs was mundane. The way Gibbs seemed to play a caricature of himself should have raised warning flags years before now.

“Can he be helped?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He’ll have to be examined properly in a dedicated facility.”

“That might be a problem,” I admitted, glancing in Giles’ direction and away again before he noticed. “I doubt he’ll be willing to travel to England.”

“Oh,” she said, “he doesn’t have to travel anywhere. Glenn Dale Sanatorium is one of the best centres in the world, and it’s right here in Washington D.C. And if I might say, you might be surprised at how willing people become to lay down a burden if they’ve been carrying it for as long as Agent Gibbs has.”

Either I hadn’t been as subtle as I thought, or Giles had been thinking in the same direction as me.

“I’ll see that Special Agent Gibbs is approached in the right way, Special Agent DiNozzo,” Giles said. “We do have experience at handling people of his personality.”

Xander yawned widely, the sugar burst having run out, and I was reminded that he had already been attacked once in attempting to help me. The visitors also noticed his flagging energy, and after only a little more conversation, Jessica and Giles prepared to leave.

Giles paused in the door. “And by the way, both of you? You are very lucky that Vance never asked whether the footage had ever been tampered with to make your actions look _less_ innocent than they were. It would be wise not to take that kind of risk again.”

He closed the door before we could gather ourselves together enough to respond.

“Oops?” I asked.

“Nah,” said Xander, “Giles is cool. You should hear some of the things he got up to when he was a young man living it up in London. Or where-ever. Somewhere in England. Somewhere in the United Kingdom, at the very least.”

“Yeah?” I asked, but the enthusiasm was half-hearted, and Xander wasn’t too tired to notice.

“They’ll do everything they can for Gibbs,” he said. “I know you’re worried, but things will get better for him.”

I was tempted to accept that flattering excuse for my lack of good spirits, but it wasn’t a conversation I could avoid in the long run anyway. “It’s not just Gibbs’ himself I’m worried about. Vance has retired, there’s still something wrong with Ziva, and now, if Gibbs goes on long term medical leave? I can’t leave anymore. I’ll have to stay with NCIS.”

“Would you have joined me, if circumstances had been different?” asked Xander, trying to sound neutral, but I could hear the vulnerability in his voice.

For all the things he’d done for me, he deserved my honesty. “Yes. I mean, I still have problems with the whole bond thing, but I really like you. More importantly, I think I can trust you, and I don’t think I can explain how important that is to me right now.”

“Well then,” he said brightly. “It’s a good thing that being a ISWC liaison to NCIS was one of the new posts I’ve been offered.”

It took me shamefully long to comprehend what Xander was saying.

“I couldn’t…” I said. “You have your own life, your own goals. And it isn’t safe.”

Xander looked unimpressed. “I’m offering, and I hate to tell you, but this last month is the safest I’ve been since I started High School. You were prepared to give up your career to join me, so why are you surprised I’m willing to do the same?”

“You’re the sentinel,” I said, weakly. I couldn’t bear to impose on him and have him come to resent me, but I desperately wanted him to stay. To have someone in my corner who was there for me. Someone who eased the guide within me without mocking me for it or taking advantage of it.

“And I know exactly how we both feel about respecting stereotypes,” he replied. Then his voice softened. “It’s not a sacrifice. You want to help people. I want to help people. This gives us a chance to help people, together.”

 _Together_ , I thought, feeling a little dizzy. An even better word than _we._ How effortlessly Xander had built a bridge over abyss.

“Besides,” he said. “No one else I know is willing to smuggle in offerings to our sugary masters for me. When I find a good dealer, I keep them close.”

Yes, I thought. We don’t waste good.


End file.
